This morning the sun confused me.
She told me there was east – where she sat.
But she can’t be wrong – she’s always been there.
There I’ve always taken to be west.
I was 90-degrees straight from her,
Walking toward her, my gaze never shifting,
As she slowly but effortlessly
Shoved the clouds aside and sat on them.
Does she sit on clouds or stand on them?
She presented her orangeness to a world
That cares mean nothing to, or so I think,
Judging the innocence of her gleam.
In a couple hours she’ll go from glory
To glory of dazzling proportions, then
Retire to her orange innocence…
But why confuse my sense of direction